Just Maeby
by Elijahismorningwood
Summary: This is a Walking Dead AU in which an original female character finds and nurses Merle Dixon back to health after he saws his hand off in 01.02 and in exchange he has to help her get somewhere safe. But he thinks the best place for her is right by his side. Kind of a smutty story later on, and includes some Stockholm/Lima syndromes. I'm messing around with the idea of who is manipu
1. Chapter 1

Sleep came harder these days.

When there were others—live people who felt and thought and were the same as she was—it was easier to let herself fall under the Sandman's spell. It was comforting knowing that someone was always on watch, keeping an eye out for danger, putting their life on the line to protect you and the people you were with. Early on everything had been fine, or as fine as things could be. She had made it out alive and for the most part unharmed, of course there was some emotional baggage attached to seeing children walkers and never knowing if the people you loved were safe. But there weren't very many people that she loved, sure her family, but they were never a nuclear bunch, often separated and relieved when Christmas came around and they weren't pressured into seeing each other. Her new family had been much nicer, and much more convenient. As a woman she had had to do certain things to guarantee that the group that found her would let her stay, but she didn't mind. No one was ever mean, or forceful. She was always more than willing, some men just look better all bloodied and battered. She always tried to do her best to make people happy, that stuff was nothing. For a while she was happy, surrounded by people, who albeit didn't really pay her any attention. She was safe, and had a good thing going.

And yet, as every good thing tends to do, her group collapsed. Under the weight of fear and loneliness and grief.

Slowly people had died off-as everything seemed to do in this horrible fucked up world-leaving the survivors heartbroken and empty. Some of her impromptu family had taken the easy way out: they felt no real desire to live in this fresh hell, they had decided to quit the living. They chose death over living. Or well, in her mind they chose not to survive.

She couldn't fault them in that, it was easy to decide not to survive when the world was so harsh but she felt a pang of cold angry towards the dead. They did not have to go on living in fear and squalor, hiding in shadows, eating mice and insects to get by. Always afraid they'd never see tomorrow. She was angry and felt, somewhat irrationally, like the dead had betrayed her. Left her alone to fend for herself. In part her angry was directed towards her own incapability to die. She had always been the weakest member of every group: gathering instead of hunting, opting for the easy domestic requirements of camp life, and being subpar at even those. She had never even held a gun, only equipped herself with a small dagger the length of her forearm. Her strongest and weakest faults were one in the same: she had an insistent need to help others, be the nice one, which often got her into trouble because she tried so hard to make other people and she got nothing in return for her troubles. She was usually the quiet one, with a nice smile holding back a white hot rage. But she was ashamed of that fury, she wanted to be liked by people, wanted to be protected, to be loved, to be spared unhappiness.

Funny though, she couldn't even spare herself the misery of living.

So she came to terms with living, and lived her life as kindly as possible: mercy killing the animals she caught and even being awfully polite to the walkers that milled around the building; refusing to kill any, though that might have stemmed from her uncanny ability to sneak around, silent on small feet. In fact, the one boast she held dear to her heart was that time she had played hide and seek with her sisters only for them to presume her missing after hours of searching. How 'heartbroken' her family must have felt, and how silly when their mousey middle child came crawling out from under the cracked foundation to complain of hunger.

Even now she hid. Squirreled away in some strangers abandoned apartment in Atlanta. It was oddly soothing and intimate being in this house, she could only hope that the person had made it out with all of their loved ones. Well at least she hoped, but a mean voice in the darkness of her mind reprimanded her. Why did this person deserve to have a better life than her? What makes them so worthy of happiness? They're probably out there right now: hidden away shamelessly like you or one of them. The constant shuffling of walkers in the hallway outside her barred door were endlessly lulling her into a peace less state. Giving her constant unending anxiety as she imagined herself walking among them.

She wedged herself deeper on the love seat in this persons studio, a dirty and foul place to live even before all hell broke loose; it was a small and dingy place reeking of moldy drywall and fungus. The apartment consisted of a small kitchenette and a 15 by 17 living slash bed room with an odd little half bath near the only window. Complete with a twin mattress on the floor adjacent to an old floral love seat, there was a certain aura of claustrophobia and comfort. To say the least it was a dump; littered with empty cans and bottles and faded newspapers. Mice crawled around under the couch and on the counters in the kitchen. She hadn't been there more than a week but she could feel the asbestos ruining her lungs. It was going to be one more night, then she'd collect her shabby belongings into a rucksack and try to make it further in the city. But as she finally found herself in a comfortable place among the dirty pillows and comforters, she felt perturbed and listened to the night. Crickets and mice ignored her warm presence and went about their business, making a ruckus and scurrying around. But something was missing. The usual dull snarls coming from the other rooms and outside had quieted.

Unease twisting her stomach into knots, she gently lifted the cover from her head, half expecting to be attacked the moment she exposed herself. But there was nothing. Her eyes, adjusted to the darkness saw nothing. And more worrisome she heard nothing, not a shuffle of dead feet or the low moan of hungry walkers. Even cocking her head to toward the door she heard nothing. The absence of noise was unsettling, but needless to say it was better than the alternative; those creatures trying to get to her.

Resolved that she was safe in her hellish little haven, she fluffed her pillow and allowed herself a hearty sigh. Content to sleep, she closed her eyes and pulled the covers over her head. It would be a peaceful rest, somewhere some higher power was watching over her. Giving her one last good rest before leaving her to her own devices in this new world.

It was one of those black dreams where it feels like you've just settled down when you wake up. A dreamless REM-less sleep. A few hours long and more serene than most nights, and yet she woke up with a start, irritable and groggy. Frustrated she was even more tired now than she had been hours before and the sun would come up soon.

Hours before. The strange disappearance of the walkers. With dread settling in the pit of her stomach she realized it wouldn't be safe in the apartment anymore if a majority of the walkers were missing and presumably milling around in the dark abandoned rooms. She had to move, get away and get past the city. But as worried as she was her head was in a fog and her eyelids felt heavy. There was no way she'd be alert enough to get through the building tomorrow in the state she was.

 _Fuck it_ , she thought. _I'll spend another night here and get some R &R_. Laughing to herself she squirmed back into her pillow nest.

"A little TLC", she said aloud. Her eyes closed and a smug grin playing on her lips she whispered to the gloom, "Let them get me, I'll be fast asleep."

No sooner had she started softly snoring did she feel a resounding crash in the hallway outside her hideyhole. On edge she gently pulled back the covers and silently slid off of the couch. With her dagger within reach she snuck towards the door and the eye hole she had made of the mail slot. Peering out she saw nothing unusual in the gloom, a few splatters of blood but she couldn't tell if it was fresh of if one of the walkers had done it. That sense of dread was again settling in quite comfortably in her gut.

She slid her hand up and slowly unmatched the door, stopping and wincing every so often as the hinges squeaked. She should have oiled them better. She stood up from her crouch and pulled the door to her, ignoring the door's noises of disagreement. Freezing in place as something let out a large exhale. Walkers didn't do that.

With her head between the door and frame, knife in hand, she braced herself; squaring her shoulders and bending her legs, arms bent in front of her. And opened the door all the way.

Standing in the dark doorway she lowered herself to the floor and moved her eyes across the hall slowly, not wanting to be caught off guard. Her eyes landed on a black lump huddled in front of the studio down the hall to her left. It moved but it was lethargic, whatever it was was hurt or turning. She was withdrawing back into the apartment, assuming it was dying, when the hinge squeaked again, loudly.

Cringing visibly she swayed, trying to remain motionless and silent, but the thing down the hall was stirring, drawn to the noise. Her worst nightmare, a walker now knowing that something alive was dwelling nearby. But to her astonishment, a low raspy voice whispered to her.

"Someone ther'? I ain't bit but I could use a lil help here," the voice breathed. It was male and gravelly, with a wetness that betrayed the owner and told her he was hurt. Bad.

Flummoxed she tried to draw away again, but he seemed to sense how the mood had shifted.

"Please man! There are a bunch a fuckin' biters down there! I barely got out, alls I'm askin' for is a-a lil assistance" he had a slight southern drawl and spoke fast, urgently. She felt pity for him but also a horrible foreboding, this man could get her killed, or worse.

 _This world is fucked up, Maeby, that doesn't mean you have to be_ , she told herself. _Leaving this man out here could kill him. He could help you!_

With some resignation she opened the door and sighed, "I'll help you, on one condition; you have to help me get out of this city. If that's not good enough for you...th-then that's too bad!" Maeby was proud of the strength behind her voice.

The man wasn't impressed though. He laughed at her! A breezy wet kind of guffaw, loud enough that she shrunk back against the wall.

"Sssh! Please! Don't be so loud! Now do we have a deal? I'll help you if you help me," Maeby kept her eyes peeled, scanning all the nearby doorways and dark corners. She would not let this guy get her killed. She refused.

"Yes ma'am I'm thinking we just about have ourselves a deal. Now girlie ple-e-e-ase come help me get my sorry ass outta this damn hallway," she could tell by his low grunts that he was trying and failing to lift himself up.

Keeping her eyes strained on the end of the hallway, she backpedaled up to him. With one last sweep of the vicinity she bent down and swiftly shoved her arm under his. With a little help on her part, Maeby was able to pry him off the floor. She let go of him when he was standing and let him say against the wall, breathing heavily and huffing his breath in an effort to hide how exhausted he was. Guess you can't really show weakness to anyone these days, she thought.

Maeby moved in front of him, her body lowered and tense, "Okay it's this way, are you safe to move on your own? I don't wanna be caught out here. Feels vulnerable."

"Humph you feel vulnerable? Girlie you don't even know the meanin of tha word" He took a hesitant step forward and stumbled into her, he rested, catching his breath, his body leaning heavily against hers. "Sorry girlie looks like I need more help than I thought" She could feel how tense his muscles were, how they spasmed every time he talked. She could only imagine how contorted with pain his face had to be. How he must be clenching his teeth. Her heart went out to him.

Without turning back, or slowing her pace, Maeby told him, "Maeby."

He slouched against her, his weight boring down on her shoulder and side. Poor man was really beat up, he could barely shuffle towards the door on his own.

"What? Speak up gadammit," He sounded pained and obviously was but that didn't excuse his attitude.

When she didn't say anything he just scoffed under his breath, "Lucky me, I found a brave lil mouse"

Maeby cleared her throat nervously and lead him into the studio, guiding him with her hands on his shoulders. When he had safely been deposited on the love seat she tossed him a pillow and went back to the door. She didn't know what to say now. Could she trust him? Would he help her? Could she possibly help him? It was too dark to tell how severely he was hurt and the extent of his injuries. She had to be prepared in case she couldn't help him and he turned on her.

"Maeby. That's my name," Only a decibel louder than before and with her back to him, Maeby continued, "How hurt are you? It smells like burned rubber, I mean you do, your hair and your clothes,"

The man on the couch have her a dry laugh, bitter and thankfully not as loud as the one before. "Not even a full two minutes and yer smellin' me?"

"No! That's not what I sai-you know what I meant!" Maeby was grateful it was too dark for him to see her blush, her face felt hot against the cold wood of the door. She could practically feel his smarmy grin.

Maeby shut her eyes, his pained chuckle echoing in the small room.

"Merle,"

Maeby opened her eyes, her forehead up against the door. It get nice to have something solid keeping her up. She turned her head to him, careful to be quiet.

"What?" She was afraid he was making fun of her, she had known men that sounded like this one. Cruel and mean and cold. God she wanted, wished he would prove her wrong.

"M'name is Merle. We might as well be on first name basis if we're gonna be spendin' some time togetha'" His tone was rough, but not unkind. He seemed just as afraid as she was.

Maeby didn't know what else to do so she went into the kitchenette, grabbed a packet of Saltines, dusted off the mouse droppings and dust and underhanded it to him as she walked back into the other room. Merle caught it clumsily and without a word of thanks dug in. Maeby didn't mind she was exhausted and he had to be too.

"Sun up in a few hours, I'll look at your wound then. As for the meantime, you get the couch I got the mattress. Understand?" She didn't care if she sounded harsh, he had interrupted her rest and could have compromised her hideout.

In response he stopped chewing and just grunted affirmation. They both didn't seem much like talkers, and he was starting to feel the effects of sun exposure, dehydration, and blood loss. Merle gave a rat's ass if this girl could help him, or of helping her. Every man for himself he always said. He was just thankful for a reprieve of any sort. He was just tired enough that he could probably fall asleep without having to get high, not like he had much of a choice anyway.

His mouth full of cracker crumbs, "Mhm yes ma'am. First light we can blah blah blah,"

He heard her snort fro the floor, not an attractive noise but he was just tired enough to laugh with her. It wasn't what was said that was funny, it was just the awful feeling of desperate camaraderie they both felt. And the realization that by first light one could be dead, both hoping it wasn't them.


	2. Chapter 2

"They just left you?" Maeby wondered if maybe the awe was tainting her mind, she was eating up his words, caught in an open eyed spell. Mystified. This man was incredible, not only had he been abandoned and left for dead by the people he'd sworn to protect, but he had cut his right hand off, completely. No matter how much she hated it she was impressed, the wound itself was horrific–a cauterized, purple and bloody stump that reeked of dead flesh and iron–but Merle himself seemed harmless, he was just lying on the couch letting her try to salvage the stub, his good hand lazily covering his face. She could only guess he didn't want her to see him cry, his voice betrayed nothing, a steel tone had crept into it, but that was nothing different than how she perceived he normally spoke. She could see the tears however. What bugged her the most was the ever present question; was he crying over the pain or his lost family? The answer would define what kind of man he was, how trustworthy he was.

To cry about the horrible pain would be human, normal. Hell to cry over the rejection and utter dismissal of the people you lived with would be normal. But she wanted him to be crying over both the pain, physically and emotionally. It would just mean he was an average guy that put up walls and barriers to protect himself, she wanted him to be mad at them or feel hatred, but all she could get out of him was a cold disdain. And that worried her.

"Ye, they just left poor ole Merle handcuffed to the fuckin roof. Officer Friendly just did what 'e thought was best fer th' group" He didn't really speak very loudly, but his voice, however low, was commanding. Like nails on a chalkboard, it drew the attention of everyone in the room. She was definitely captured in it. She felt intimidated and relieved at the same time; he was such an imposing presence, he seemed to occupy the very air, suffocating her, but on the other hand this formidable man could be her ticket to safety. Merle could definitely handle himself.

He looked at her, his pale eyes peeking out from under his hand, "Well? You gonna take care a me or you just gonna ogle me?".

She hadn't realized she'd been staring, his tattered wrist resting softly in her bloody hands. Ducking her head and hiding her blush she steadied her hands and applied pressure to the wound, trying to stop the slow trickle of blood that leaked from it. He had done an excellent job cauterizing the wound, given the time and materials he had, but had missed a spot, and it was still fresh and bloody, the tender meat exposed and vulnerable.

"Look at me," This time his voice wasn't so harsh, still undoubtedly a command, but it wasn't unkind.

Maeby glanced at him, parting her hair with a red finger and replied, "What? You yell at me when I look at you and when I don't? Make up your mind, _friend_ ,"

Merle had to laugh at that, the little mouse girl was putting on a brave face for him, her cheeks rosy and her eyes wide, in what he could only surmise as a mixture of fear and curiosity. He put his hand back over his eyes, it was nice to be able to rest a bit, even if the fire on his arm hadn't gone out and he kept imagining curling his fingers.

Daryl would have known what to say to make him feel better. _Daryl should have been there,_ Merle couldn't help but feel some residual anger towards his brother and the group, though he knew Daryl had nothing to do with what happened. For the most part he was pissed the fuck off that he might never be able to see his baby brother again. How dare that uppity newcomer do this to him?! Sure he had been off his rocker, high on speed and pot, a winning combination really. And sure he'd gone a little Confederate on T-Dog, he understood that what he had done was wrong, but he was childish in his pride. He had been verbally and physically punished in front of everyone, he knew he deserved what he got, but he couldn't live with the embarrassment. He really couldn't blame anyone else but himself for what happened, and thats what pissed him off. At least finding this girl had been opportune: he was being redeemed. Mark 5: 29 and 30, "If your right hand makes you stumble, cut it off and throw it from you; for it is better for you to lose one of the parts of your body, than for your whole body to go into hell. He had the chance to prove himself and change the wretched man he was, this was his new leaf being turned over. And this girl was going to help him become better.

There's no point in lying. Merle had thought about raping her and robbing her blind–the idea of her tight body pinned underneath his, and forced to take his cock, was intoxicating–but when he woke up, feverish and called out, she had been by his side quicker than he had anticipated. His guess was she hadn't slept a wink. She was remarkable. Kind and patient, polite to a fault. Waiting on him hand and foot, trying her best to salvage his hand. Cooling his brow when he overheated and feeding him since his left hand was clumsy and untrained. He was ashamed by how turned on he'd been, hell maybe if he was nice to her maybe she'd wanna screw around.

But for the meantime, she would be his muse, he would become good for her. Hell, he didn't know her full name or anything about her, but in Merle's mind if he could convince her to be his new group, and get her to never want to abandon him, he'd do okay in God's eyes. She would be his new group, and he would never make her want to leave.

She wasn't so bad on the eyes either, that was if she'd look him in the eyes. Mouse girl afraid of her own shadow.

He scoffed again and took his hand off his face, awkwardly putting it on her shoulder, "Sorry 'bout that, guess I'm still a lil rough around the edges," pointing at where his right hand had been. He had never been one with a quick wit, but when push came to shove he could be funny, a dark, wry humor that bordered on black.

Maeby looked down nervously, she couldn't tell if he was feverish or flirty.

Merle humphed, and turned over, taking his stump out of her hand and moving so his back was to her. So much for his attempt at camaraderie, she either was too insipid to get it or didn't care.

Understandably, Maeby, who was kicking herself for realizing too late that he'd made a joke, and giggled tensely.

"That's a good one, Merle. I've gotta give you a hand for that,"

She wanted to appease him, she still didn't know if she could trust him, what if she hurt his feelings and he hurt her? It was an awkward minute between her lame joke and when his shoulders started to shake.

 _Fuck I made him cry. Fuck, he'll be so angry!_ Maeby's mind racing, she put her hand on his shoulder blade and pushed a little.

"Hey? You okay? I didn't mean it," But he just turned to face her, a swift movement that sent her falling back in shock, landing on her ass, hard.

He was laughing, his sunburned, middle aged face scrunched up in joy. His blue eyes mere slits as he let out long belts of hearty chuckles, this time they even sounded sincere. Slowly, as his laughter started to deepen, Maeby found the courage to laugh with him. Soon the both of them were cackling like fiends, hands clamped over their mouths to limit the noise. It lasted maybe three or four minutes before Maeby had to stop, she was getting lightheaded, but it felt nice to be able to laugh again. Even if it was with a complete stranger, if she felt safe enough to laugh with him he couldn't be all that bad.

–

After their fit of giggles, Merle and Maeby went back to being awkward, neither one knew what to say, Merle wanted to compliment her on her wit, and ask for some food and maybe a drink, but he knew this was thin ice. He didn't want to come across as over bearing, or demanding. And he wanted her to feel comfortable enough to laugh with him, but he couldn't let her know he wanted these things. Merle had to remain strong; vigilant, a formidable mystery that represented hope and protection. He had to play nice, but didn't really know how.

Maeby was just having trouble being around another human being after so long, she'd been on her own long enough that she didn't really know what to say to ease the tension or to introduce herself. Before all of this, all of the shit with the dead people, she had been an average social butterfly. She had had dates before, with different types of men, some mean, some con-artists, some hacks and some diamonds in the rough. She'd gone through the dull game of twenty questions before, over and over, with varying results. But in this new environment, where death loomed over everything, it felt weird asking about his family and what schools he went to, and what books or movies he enjoyed.

She didn't know what to say, so she said the only normal thing she could think of.

"I'm hungry, what about you?"

 _Dammit this girl must be psychic,_ Merle brooded sarcastically. Of course he was hungry, he hadn't known a full stomach for a few months. Everyone was feeling starved and neglected nowadays.

"Ye, what'd'cha got?"

She had to think for a bit, she'd given him her last pack of Saltines the other night, and the water she'd drawn from the bathtub was getting a little stagnant. It was a survivor's tip she'd learned from her old group; stop up a bathtub and draw as much water as you can collect, it'll be treated water, not great, but as good as water goes.

"I have some sardines, and a can of peaches. A few dinged up cans of beans. You have your choice of lima, pinto, kidney, or garbonzo. A feast for kings,"

"Humph, a feast fer th' dead,"

 _He's just such a grouch, he was fine a moment ago, and now grumpy again,_ Merle was getting tired of his mood swings, _Must be pms-ing_ , She thought bitterly. A man as big as he was and he was so temperamental, it made her wanna laugh.

"Well, we _are_ the walking dead, Merle," She figured light jokes and using his name a lot would make him warm up to her faster. Even if they were gonna have to face starvation together, at least she'd have someone by her side this time. She wanted, so desperately, for someone to have her back.

"In that case why don't we have some pinto 'n fish, wit' some peaches? Sound good fer ya, Peach?" He grinned slowly, a wolf licking its chops. He made a move to stand up, put his 'hands' down on the couch as if to push himself up, but to Maeby's dismay he forgot about his right arm. With a grunt and a growl, he fell back on the couch. Maeby stood up quickly and wrung her hands.

"Please don't move so much, try not to exacerbate the wound, I tried really hard to get it to stop bleeding," When he averted his eyes and grunted, she leaned down and pulled a blanket over him, "C'mon you sit tight I'll get the food, that sound good, Peach?"

With a hearty sigh and light smile he waved her off, and Maeby took the hint and scurried off to the kitchen. Merle pushed himself up into a sitting position, drawing his feet under him and dragging the blanket up to his chest. It felt awful for him to be rendered so useless, here he was relying on this girl's sympathy to even move. God what would happened if he needed to dress himself, or hunt for them, or heaven forbid defend her? Either she'd have to learn how to defend herself and hunt for the both of them, or he'd be on his own soon. Whichever way it went, he'd have to adapt fast, or forget getting out of the city.

He peered through the early morning light–she had been smart to draw the blinds and barricade the windows, but some light still fought its way into the apartment–into the kitchen, where Maeby was riffling through drawers. He could hear her grumbling to herself, something about a fucking can opener and its approximate location. He had to give it to Maeby, she had a kind heart and was feisty, it took a bit of prodding for her to lash out or defend herself, but that was because she was a decent person. He pitied her. Only the cruel and the dying lived in this world. He was proof of that at least. Though that did bring an interesting thought to mind; if she had survived this long she was either an anomaly or more proof of his theory.

Only time would tell.

Merle leaned back and closed his eyes, the slight sunlight felt good on his sweaty brow. It was hot in the room, poor ventilation, but he kept getting feverish and had frequent cold flashes. It fucking sucked. He gave himself a few minutes to worry about his brother.

Daryl wasn't known for his ability to handle grief, he'd noticed his brother self-harming after their mother died in that awful fire. He himself had been twelve years old and away, locked up in Juvenile Hall. But Daryl was one of the first on scene.

Their mother was a chain smoker and a depressive, abusive drunk, she became so passive to the world when she was in her cups. Merle wouldn't be surprised if she had noticed the fire around her and just decided to let it smother her, not giving a care as her son smelled her body burning outside. It was a hard reality, but Merle had always been adept at dealing with the harshness of the real world. Daryl had been tricked and conned over and over again all his life, he was never prepared for death or sadness or betrayal, and probably never would be. When he was a kid, Daryl had these big blue eyes that looked at everything and everyone with the same love and affection that Merle had saved only for his brother. Merle had tried to teach his little brother how to survive in this world, even before the virus, but his little brother was the sweet one.

He was lost in thought, trying to remember Daryl's face throughout the years, grimly wondering if he'd ever see his brother again, when he felt her lower herself onto the couch. She was quiet on her feet, tip-toeing everywhere like it was a game of hide and seek. He resented her silent power, he was a hunter he should have sensed her getting closer, but it was a powerful gift for an ally to have.

Without opening his eyes, Merle complimented her, "It's not many who can sneak up on me, I'm a real good hunter, so kudos ta you,"

She shifted her weight, settling into her seat, and whispered a word of thanks. He turned his head and looked at her, really looked. She was calm, collected, but he could sense by the way she moved that she had a rage inside her; she walked on egg shells, but he figured it wasn't because she was afraid of his fury, but because she was worried about what she was capable of. Dark times call for dark measures, and she just wasn't prepared to be a survivor yet, and all that entailed.

She was going to fight for her humanity, fight tooth and nail to hold onto every scrap of human dignity and morality she possessed. It was an noble cause, ultimately worthless and in vain, but noble nonetheless.

"Well? You gonna eat this five star meal, or you just gonna ogle at me?" Merle had to give it to her, she had a way of twisting his words. She was entertaining to say the least.


End file.
